


But no Man moved Me – till the Tide

by aibidil



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Agatha Christie References, Beach Holidays, Beaches, Bed & Breakfast, Bridget Jones's Diary References, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, New Relationship, Quitting a job, Vacation, Wizards at the beach, escaping reality, muggle novels, running away from responsibilities
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-11-19 08:41:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11309808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aibidil/pseuds/aibidil
Summary: Harry bursts into Draco's office one morning and drags him away for an impromptu beach holiday. Draco knows something's happened, and wonders if Harry will open up to him. Featuring a Muggle bed and breakfast, wizards at the beach, Draco's house-elf who loves Harry, Muggle paperbacks, and the scary and exhilarating feeling of complete freedom and possibility.





	But no Man moved Me – till the Tide

**Author's Note:**

> I went to the beach, so have a beach!Drarry. :)
> 
> Come find me at [Tumblr](https://aibidil.tumblr.com).
> 
> The title is taken from an Emily Dickinson poem, [I started Early – Took my Dog –](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/resources/learning/core-poems/detail/50976).

Draco Malfoy sat at his desk in the Litigation Department at the Ministry, surrounded by stacks of parchment, file folders, and quills. A cup of cold tea sat on the corner of the desk. He was wrapping up paperwork on a case he’d recently argued before the Wizengamot. Three wizards were headed to Azkaban after being convicted of brewing and distributing particularly nasty illegal potions. The paperwork associated with sending people to Azkaban was mountainous.

Draco sighed, cast a warming charm at his tea, and took a sip.

The door burst open and Draco brushed his blond hair out of his eyes as he looked up from his paperwork. He smiled and raised an eyebrow in question.

Harry Potter, manic-eyed and slightly out of breath, stood in the door. Draco took in Harry’s flushed cheeks, his askew glasses, and his Auror robes. Harry always looked delicious in his Auror robes. It was a shame Draco refused to have sex in the office, because Harry never wore his Auror robes after work. Someday he’d have to ask Harry to don the robes in the evening so Draco could take them off; they’d only had a tentative relationship for a few weeks, though, and it was hard to know the appropriate time to tell your ex-nemesis-sort-of-boyfriend-saviour-of-the-wizarding-world that you find his work uniform dead sexy and want to role play in it.

“Draco,” Harry exhaled. “You’re done with the Asphyx case, right? How many vacation days do you have saved up?”

“I’m not sure,” Draco lied. He knew exactly how many vacation days he had, because he hadn’t used a single one since he started working at the Ministry three years ago. 

Harry took three long strides to Draco and leaned back on the desk. He put his hands on the edge of the desk and leaned forward. “Let’s go away. Right now. Where do you want to go? The beach? Paris? Disney World? The weather is perfect.”

“What?” Draco’s eyebrows rose. Harry was always more impulsive than Draco, but this was out of character even for Harry. Something had clearly happened. “What happened? Aren’t you working?”

Harry’s brow creased. “I don’t want to talk about it. Let’s go!” 

Draco huffed, but he couldn’t help a half smile. “I have to work,” he said, waving his hand to indicate the papers on the desk.

Harry pushed himself off the desk and out into the hallway. Draco, bemused, watched him go. 

“Mr Pomple!” Harry enthused from the hallway. 

Oh shit. Auden Pomple was Draco’s boss. Draco jumped up from his chair and ran into the hallway. Mr Pomple was talking to Harry and looked a bit starstruck. Oh, Merlin. This was apparently the one time that Harry would be okay with taking advantage of his fame.

“So you understand, Mr Pomple, how important it is for Draco to get some time off, and how much I require him, er, elsewhere.”

Harry was terrible at coming up with impromptu excuses, but Pomple didn’t seem to notice. Pomple looked at Draco. “Malfoy,” he said, “who am I to say no to Harry Potter? You deserve the break. Excellent work on the Asphyx case. Go, take some time.”

Harry turned, flashing Draco a huge smile.

“Thank you, Mr Pomple,” Draco said, grabbing Harry’s wrist and pulling him back into the office. “Harry. What is going on?”

“A trip! You and me! Getting away from it all!”

Draco looked at Harry, who finally raised his eyes to meet Draco’s. Harry’s eyes were nervous, even a bit fearful. He looked so uncertain. He looked like the boy who once walked into an arena to face a Hungarian Horntail.

Draco melted. “Okay, you insane Gryffindor. What about our stuff?”

“Gappy!” Harry said.

A house-elf appeared with a _crack!_ Draco rolled his eyes. Harry was not the master of Gappy; _Draco_ was. Of course, the elf was as obsessed with Potter as was the rest of the wizarding world. Gappy was thrilled to pretend that Harry was his joint master, even though Draco and Harry had barely been dating for two months.

“Yes, Master Harry?”

“Can you please go to Draco’s flat and pack a bag for a trip, and then to Grimmauld Place to pack me a bag, and then bring us the bags?”

“Of course. What type of clothes will sirs be needing?”

“Er,” Harry stammered, “casual Muggle clothes? Swimming stuff?”

“Right away, Master Harry!” Gappy disappeared.

Harry turned to Draco with a sheepish smile. “Do you have any other things to finish up?”

Draco looked back at his desk. He’d just about finished the last important form. “Allow me five minutes to finalize Esxium’s incarceration.”

Harry smiled, grabbed Draco’s face between his hands, and pressed a kiss to his lips. “I’m going to send Hermione and Ron an owl. I’ll be back in five.”

Draco stared as Harry swept out of the office. He blinked, confused, and looked down at his paper. He hurriedly completed the form and scrawled notes to Pansy and his mother, informing them that he was going out of town with Harry and not to worry about his absence. He waved his wand and the papers sorted themselves, the messages zooming off to the Ministry owlery, where the postwizard would attach them to owls and send them on their way.

Harry bounded back into the room, still looking slightly manic. “Ready?” he said with a smile.

Draco briefly wondered if he should take Potter to see a mediwizard, or sneak him a Calming Draught. But, knowing Harry’s stubbornness, neither of those options seemed wise. He’d have to try a more personal approach.

He walked over to Harry and put his hands on Harry’s cheeks. “Hey,” Draco said softly.

“Hey,” Harry exhaled, and seemed to calm a bit.

“I see you. I don’t need to know now, but you’ll tell me later?” 

Harry deflated into Draco’s arms. “Yes.”

“Okay then, Potter,” Draco drawled, circling his arms around Harry’s back. “Let’s go.”

Harry looked up with a bright smile, and pulled Draco in for a searing kiss.

 

* * *

 

After being pulled by Harry to the Ministry’s Apparition Point, Draco found his forearm grasped tightly in Harry’s hand, and the world went black and tight. When it rematerialized, Draco was on a beach. The sea air was humid and salty and the wind whipped into his face, blowing his platinum hair into his eyes.

Draco turned to Harry. “Where are we?” he asked, loud enough for his voice to carry over the waves.

“South Pembrokeshire,” Harry replied. “Ron and Hermione came here once. I’ve never really been on a beach holiday.”

Draco tilted his head. “Never?”

“I mean, I’ve been to the beach a few times. But once was during the war planning to break into your aunt’s Gringotts vault right after I watched Dobby die. After you pretended like you didn’t know who I was. So like, not really a _holiday._ ”

Draco laughed with a sigh. “Fuck, I don’t know if I’ll ever get over the way these delightful memories of our stormy past crop up into the most benign conversations.”

Harry wrapped his arm around Draco’s waist. “You were brave that day. I’m glad you’re in my memories, even when you were a prat.”

Draco huffed, but he was sure Harry could see through his charade of outrage.

“Have you been here?” Harry asked.

“No, my parents never took me to a beach.”

Harry gave him a strange look. “Really? Too common for Malfoys?”

“Too Muggle, I think. But fuck that. I have wanted to come, but who would I come with?”

Harry squeezed him tighter. “Let’s find the place Hermione told me about.” He looked around. “I think it’s over this way.” 

They walked along the beach, towards a path they could just make out in the distance. 

“Harry?” 

He looked over, his dark hair whipping around his face even more wildly than usual.

“We’re really not dressed for this, are we?”

Harry laughed. They were both still wearing robes. Harry had on his Auror boots; the sand was sinking into the crevices and seams of the boots. Draco’s shiny wizarding shoes didn’t have much tread and he found himself sliding.

“Why didn’t we leave this stuff behind?” Harry shook his head.

“I think, Potter, that would be because this trip was so impulsive, not a single bit of planning was done.” But Draco couldn’t help but laugh through his smirk.

“Okay, okay. Let’s get rid of it.” Harry pulled off his robes and shrunk them with a wave of his wand. “Give me yours.”

Draco swallowed, his eyes on Harry’s shoulders where they pulled his Chudley Cannons shirt taut across his back. He unbuttoned his own robes deftly and handed them to Harry. 

“Shoes,” Harry demanded, sitting down to unlace his own boots.

Draco sat primly next to Harry’s sprawled form, removed his shoes and socks, and rolled up his pants.

Harry finally shucked off his boots (Auror boots are not known for their easy on and off). He grabbed his wand and pointed it at his trousers, transforming them into a pair of neon-patterned shorts.

Draco raised a single eyebrow. “Are you intending on being seen with me, or are you going off by yourself like that?”

Harry laughed, flopping back into the sand and shielding his eyes from the sun. “People wear this sort of shit at the beach, you prat. It’s like, one of the main things about going to the beach, as far as I can see.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Draco drawled. Harry’s shirt had rucked up around his torso, baring a strip of brown skin. Draco remembered the feeling he’d had until recently of seeing Harry and wanting, _wanting,_ and not being able to touch. He smiled; he could touch now.

He touched his long pale fingers to Harry’s abdomen and trailed them across the skin. He watched, mesmerized, as goose bumps erupted on Harry’s skin.

“Merlin, you look sexy. Should I put up a _Repello Muggletum,_ or are we going to find a bed at a place to stay?”

Harry looked up at him, squinting in the sunlight. “As tempting as the offer of sex on the beach is, I think we should probably find a bed.”

Harry stood abruptly. “Gappy!” 

The house-elf appeared. “Master Harry!”

Draco rolled his eyes.

“Gappy, can you take this stuff back for us? We’re going to try to find a place to stay over there, I think there’s a bed and breakfast. You can bring our things there later, okay?”

“Absolutely, Master Harry!”

“I’m still here, you know,” Draco drawled. 

Gappy turned. “Of course, Master Draco! Gappy is being happy to help.” Gappy Disapparated with their robes and shoes, leaving the two men standing on the beach barefoot.

“Potter, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you’re trying to steal my house-elf— _again.”_

“Oh, don’t be a berk. I can’t help it if Gappy likes me.”

“That is _not_ how house-elf loyalty is supposed to work. Typical Harry Potter exceptionalism.”

Harry elbowed him in the ribs. They walked to the path off the beach and arrived at a bed and breakfast. While Harry chatted with the older Muggle woman checking them in, Draco wandered around. It was cozy, clean, a little old fashioned—a little too many style tips taken from Dolores Umbridge. He wondered idly whether the woman would be the type to give disapproving glances to two men asking for a room, but she seemed welcoming. 

There was a whole wall of bookshelves, which Draco was drawn to. There was no organization and the books were well-used. John Grisham. Agatha Christie. David McCullough. Bill Bryson. Nick Hornby.

Harry walked over with the Muggle woman following behind. “Welcome to Pleasant Valley House, young man! Call me Aunt Esther. Feel free to take a book upstairs with you, now.”

“Thank you kindly,” Draco said, still a bit unsure about how to interact with Muggles.

She turned to him with a sparkle in her blue eyes. “Do you need a recommendation? I pride myself on picking out the perfect book for each guest. Aunt Esther always knows,” she said, pointing an index finger at her temple, “exactly what book each person needs.”

Harry smiled widely. “Brilliant! I’ll take a book.”

She looked at Harry appraisingly, tilted her head. “If you were an animal, would it be water, land, or sky?” Her eyes fixed on Harry like she was performing Legilimancy. Draco nearly reached for his wand before he remembered that this woman was a Muggle.

Harry smiled. “Land.”

Aunt Esther turned to the shelf, muttering to herself as she trailed a finger along the spines of the books. “Aha!” She pulled a book off the shelf. _Bridget Jones’s Diary._ “You look like you could do with something light today, child.”

Harry laughed, and Draco realized that Harry was looking calmer already, away from their usual stressors. Harry really had been kind of a mess lately, apart from the relationship with Draco. His Auror work had been causing him to lose sleep. His war nightmares were back—a sure sign of increased stress. Draco had often caught Harry, when he wasn’t involved with whatever Draco was doing, looking off into space with troubled eyes. But right now Harry’s eyes were bright and happy. Draco couldn’t help but snake his arm around Harry’s waist, pulling him tight. Harry looked up at Draco with heat in his eyes.

Aunt Esther chuckled, looking at Draco. “And you? You’re the anchor for him, aren’t you?” 

Draco started. He and Harry had really only been a couple for a few weeks, and Aunt Esther seemed to be assuming they were long-term beaus. 

Aunt Esther patted Draco’s arm. “He’s lucky to have you. And he’s your buoy, isn’t he? We like our sea metaphors here, you see. What about you, dear? Water, land, or sky?”

Draco wasn’t sure. “Sky?”

“Of course,” she said, turning to the books. She walked a ways down the long bookshelf searching for something appropriate. 

“Do you always ask that question?” Draco asked, as she continued perusing the shelves.

“No, I ask all sorts of things,” she replied. “Anything to get an idea of your personality. Often I ask about superpowers.”

Draco couldn’t suppress a laugh.

“Of course,” she said finally, pulling out a book.

Draco reached out to take the book, but she held out her free hand to stop him. “You can only have this if you promise not to let our friend here read it.” She gestured towards Harry. “He does not need the suspense.” 

Draco’s mouth turned up slightly, but he said in a somber voice, “You have my word.” She handed him a copy of _And Then There Were None._ “Agatha Christie?”

“Have you never read her, dear? You’re in for a treat.” Aunt Esther leaned in conspiratorially and whispered, “This book used to be racist, you know.”

Draco’s forehead wrinkled in confusion, but Harry just thanked her and pulled Draco up the stairs to their room. As Harry locked the door behind them, Draco said, “Aunt Esther would be fast friends with Sybill Tre—” but he couldn’t finish his thought because Harry’s lips were on his.

“Mhmm,” Draco humphed, surprised, before he could bring his arms up around Harry’s warm back. 

Harry and Draco were always fairly eager in the bedroom. Or out of the bedroom, as the case may be. They were grabbing hands and hot mouths and quickly removed trousers. Their first kiss was still fresh in Draco’s mind—his fear that Harry wouldn’t react the way he wanted, that the kiss wouldn’t be as good as his imagination had expected—and then the actual kiss had been an earth-shattering, you-will-never-be-the-same-person-you-were-before-this kind of thing. 

But this kiss had a desperation to it that was absent from their normal embraces. Draco was momentarily distracted as he realized that Harry was trying to use this, use him, use sex to escape from whatever had happened to him earlier.

Draco gently pushed Harry a few inches away and reached down to pull off Harry’s shirt. He leaned forwards, running his hands down Harry’s chest, tickling his phoenix tattoo and causing it to flap away. Draco put his lips to Harry’s ear and whispered, “Use me. I’ll make you forget whatever happened. I’ll make you forget your name, Harry Potter.”

He had expected Harry to laugh and elbow his ribs, or to smack him on the arm and call him a prat through smirking lips. Instead, whatever willpower Harry had been exerting to keep himself together seemed to snap. He let out a growling moan and pulled Draco backwards to the bed, falling onto his back roughly and pulling Draco down on top of his chest.

“What do you want?” Draco asked.

Harry looked up at him. “I want you to fuck me. Like you said. Hard—make me forget everything but this, but you.”

Draco smiled and twisted his fingers in Harry’s hair. “I still don’t know what we’re forgetting.”

“Draco—” Harry sighed with frustration, but Draco wasn’t trying to get Harry to talk. He was already casting a series of preparation and protection spells and coating his hand with lubricant. He pushed a finger inside Harry, rough, the way he knew Harry liked.

Harry sucked in a breath as Draco wrapped his other hand around Harry’s cock, stroking languidly. He moved his finger inside Harry, waiting for Harry’s muscles to relax. Draco felt Harry’s fingernails run across his scalp, raising a path of tingles down his spine. 

“More,” Harry demanded with a breaking voice, and Draco slid in another finger. 

Draco leaned his face against Harry’s leg, pressing a kiss to his inner thigh. 

Draco was still realizing how screwed up Harry was from the war, and from people’s expectations of him, and from the constant fame. He was still realizing the extent to which the private Harry—this Harry writhing under Draco’s fingers and asking to forget his own name—was different from the public Harry, even the public Harry who would go out to pub nights with their Hogwarts cohort, laughing and drinking and flirting with Draco. Merlin, Harry couldn’t be like that all the time. He needed a chance to be broken, to be not what everyone expected.

“That’s enough,” Harry breathed. “Fuck me _now._ ”

Draco wasn’t about to disobey. Harry looked like the cover of one of the more lascivious books Aunt Esther had downstairs, his hair sprawling behind his head, his torso and arms muscled and taut from Auror training. His tattoos—that most people never saw—secretly marking him as different than his hero image. _Merlin, fuck,_ Harry looked so good. Sometimes Draco still couldn’t believe this was real.

He hooked Harry’s legs over his forearms, coated himself with more lube, and pressed inside.

“Ahhhh!” Harry called out.

Draco stilled. “Are you okay? I don’t want to hurt—”

“No, yes, I don’t care, hurt me, yesss,” Harry hissed.

Draco’s mind blanked at that, but his body obeyed, thrusting into Harry harder and faster than he normally would. Harry pushed forward eagerly and Draco captured his lips in a kiss that was as much teeth as tongue.

Draco pulled back, adjusting his angle, and started again. This time he managed to find the spot inside Harry because Harry’s hands gripped Draco’s biceps and he moaned, “Yes, yes, there.”

Draco’s brain was bombarded with sensory overload—fingernails digging into his arms, teeth and tongue on his lip, Harry’s stubble scratching his chin and cheek, hot heat surrounding his cock as each thrust caused deep sparks of pleasure to course through his body.

“Stop,” Draco managed, “If you want this to last, hold on.” He closed his eyes and tried to calm his system, silently reciting the ingredients to the Wiggenweld Potion.

Harry sat up, dislodging Draco’s cock with a squelch, and pressed Draco onto his back. Draco couldn’t help but smirk at Harry’s debauched appearance, his wild hair, his lip swollen where Draco’s teeth had crashed into it. Harry smiled back, settling himself over Draco’s torso and pressing himself down on Draco’s cock again.

Draco moaned as Harry pressed himself all the way down, the weight of his entire body pushing down on Draco’s groin. “Oh, gods, Harry,” Draco breathed and reached his hands to tightly grasp Harry’s hips. “Do you want my hand?”

“No, grab me like that but tighter,” Harry gasped, reaching instead for his own cock, wanking himself as he thrust his body down in a relentless pace. 

Draco dug his nails into Harry’s sides, pressing hard enough to leave marks. He watched, mesmerized, as Harry’s strong quadriceps flexed. He sent up a small prayer of thanks to the Auror training facility, because _fuck,_ Harry was so fit. Harry would probably be sore tomorrow, Draco thought, looking at his muscles. Then Draco lost the capacity for any rational thought as the heat of desire pooled deep in his belly and he felt himself approach the edge. “Harry,” he moaned, “close.” Draco released one hand from Harry’s hip and reached up to pinch Harry’s nipple, hard. 

“Ngghhh,” Harry cried, and he was coming on Draco’s chest. 

Harry’s muscles spasmed against Draco’s cock and Draco let himself topple into bliss, emptying himself inside Harry. 

After a moment, Harry fell onto Draco, his sweaty forehead resting on Draco’s sweaty chest. 

“Better?” Draco asked after a minute of silence.

Harry looked up and smiled. “I’m always better with you.”

Draco’s chest constricted. Fucking Gryffindor—making him _feel_ things. He didn’t, couldn’t, answer, but reached his arms around to stroke Harry’s back. “What’s your name?”

Harry chuckled, the noise muffled by Draco’s skin. “I can’t remember.”

“Damn straight,” Draco said haughtily, and Harry smacked his arm.

Harry rolled off, grabbing his wand and silently cleaning them both of spunk and sweat. They lay there for a few minutes in silence. “Let’s go to the beach,” Harry finally said, “and have a real holiday like people who, who—who aren’t Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter.”

 

* * *

 

Draco stood, looking at the patch of sand on which Harry had recently plopped. Harry opened his tattered paperback and looked up at Draco, shielding his eyes from the sun. “Sit,” Harry said, his eyebrows wrinkled in confusion at Draco.

“Gappy!” Draco called. 

The house-elf appeared. “Yes, Master Draco?”

“Can you please bring me _500 Charms for Traveling Wizards_?”

“Gappy is bringing it right back!” The elf disappeared.

Harry looked up at Draco, his lip twitching in amusement.

“Keep your mouth shut, Potter,” Draco drawled warningly.

Harry mimed zipping his lips and turned his eyes to his book. 

Gappy returned and handed the book to Draco. “Is there anything else Gappy can be doing for masters?”

“No, and thank you for bringing our bags, Gappy. That’ll be all.” Gappy Disapparated as Draco cast a research charm on the book. The pages flipped by as if a gust of wind had blown in, stopping abruptly at a chapter titled “Beach Charms.” Draco scanned the page quickly, then looked at Harry and smiled. He waved his wand, a line of concentration between his eyebrows, muttering a series of charms.

“What did you cast on me?” Harry asked.

“Sunshade, sun protection, sand barrier, wards to keep the weird beach animals out. Is it too hot?” he asked, running his finger down the page. “There’s a proximity cooling charm.”

Harry laughed. “Sand barrier charm?”

“I don’t want that all over me and all in my clothes.”

“Fair enough. Sit and read your Muggle mystery novel.”

Draco complied, stretching onto his stomach and propping himself up on his forearms to open _And Then There Were None._ As he started reading (Merlin this book was ominous already on the third page, an assortment of people being lured onto a train by mysterious letters), he realized this was the first time he’d ever been on a holiday. Not counting the sterile trips his parents had taken him on before the war. Since the war, he’d been busy with school and his work, and had never thought to stop and take a holiday. Where would he have gone? Who would go with him? He felt some long-held tension release from his shoulders.

Beside him, Harry snorted. Draco looked over. “What?”

“This book. Listen to this. Some old guy’s like, ‘How’s your love life, anyway?’ The main character writes, 'Oh _God._ Why can’t married people understand that this is no longer a polite question to ask? We wouldn’t rush up to them and roar, ‘How’s your marriage going? Still having sex?’ Everyone knows that dating in your thirties is not the happy-go-lucky free-for-all it was when you were twenty-two and that the honest answer is more likely to be, ‘Actually, last night my married lover appeared wearing suspenders and a darling little Angora crop-top, told me he was gay/a sex addict/a narcotic addict/a commitment phobic and beat me up with a dildo,’ than, ‘Super, thanks.’'”

The corner of Draco’s mouth curled. “Are you going to show up wearing suspenders and a daring little Angora crop-top? I’d be into it.”

Harry laughed. “I’ll keep that in mind, but we’re not in our thirties yet.”

Draco sighed. “Getting close.” He turned his eyes back to the cast of characters on the 12.40 from Paddington.

The afternoon passed pleasantly in a haze of entertaining reading, the sound of the sea, and the proximity of two young lovers who did not yet take their proximity for granted. After a few hours, each of their books half finished, Harry threaded his fingers with Draco’s.

“You want to go on a walk? Hermione told me about this beach nearby that Muggles can only access by walking through tunnels. And I’ve got to tell you about what happened this morning.”

Draco sat up. “Sure.” They stood. “Aren’t you glad I cast that sand barrier charm? We’d be a mess without it. These poor Muggles. The beach is a complete mess.”

Harry laughed, took a firm grip on Draco’s arm, and Apparated them into their room at the Pleasant Valley House. They threw their books on the quilted bedspread and pulled on shoes that Gappy had brought (trainers for Harry, French loafers for Draco). Harry grabbed his wallet of Muggle money, and they walked down the stairs.

“I didn’t see you boys come back from the beach,” Aunt Esther said.

“Oh, we must’ve missed you,” Harry said with a smile.

“We’re enjoying the books,” Draco added.

“Excellent, my dears! Enjoy your evening!”

They walked out the front door and the humid sea air rushed across their faces.

“Know any charms to keep my damn hair out of my eyes?” Harry asked.

Draco flipped his wand in Harry’s direction, and immediately his hair stopped whipping around his face.

Harry raised a hand to his head. “I was joking. But wow. Thanks.”

Draco laughed. They walked amicably towards the tunnels leading to Coppet Beach. 

“So,” Draco said.

“So,” Harry sighed.

“You going to finally tell me what’s going on, or am I going to recount the plot of my mystery novel to you? Or I could recite my tedious paperwork about the Asphyx case.”

Harry grabbed Draco’s hand and squeezed. “We had this new case—this is classified, so you can’t say anything—where relatives of imprisoned Death Eaters were trying to punish relatives of Aurors and members of the Order. I mean, it’s the kind of shit we’ve been dealing with since the war, really. Nasty, but not much different.”

Draco rubbed his thumb on Harry’s hand.

“But Robards is acting like a complete arse about the case,” Harry continued. “He basically isn’t even following standard procedure. It’s like they’ve all gotten complacent because the war isn’t as fresh in everyone’s minds.”

Draco hummed his assent.

“I’ve talked to Robards about it and he kept brushing me off. So I went over his head to Kingsley. This morning Kingsley called a meeting with me and Robards. I get in there and Robards looks like he’s about to hex me. Kingsley asked me to state my concerns, which I did, in great detail. Robards was so annoyed he jumped out of his chair and started screaming at me. And then Kingsley took Robards’s side! Not only are they completely ignoring my concerns—which, I might add, are completely valid—they took me off the case! Because they said I was too “high visibility” and it was going to make the Aurors weak! Draco, I was the _only_ one who had made any breakthroughs on that case.”

Harry paused and ran a hand through his hair. The salty air rushed into their faces, but only Draco’s hair blew into his eyes.

“So I blew up at Kingsley and told him if he took me off the case, I was quitting.”

Draco stopped. “You said what?”

“And then Kingsley bellowed right back at me that I couldn’t quit, because he was firing me, and I don’t belong on the Auror force, and I had 30 minutes to get out of the building.”

Draco’s mouth dropped open.

“But I had already quit. I peeked at my file—you know how they’re charmed to automatically update employment status—and it said that I quit this morning at 8:47am. So. I’m unemployed.”

“Fuck,” Draco said.

“What the hell am I going to do, Draco?” Harry said, turning. He looked so lost, and younger than usual. “Can you believe those arseholes told me that I didn’t belong on the force and that I was a liability? Haven’t they seen the department statistics? My case success rate was highest in the division last year!”

Draco wrapped his arm around Harry’s shoulders and started walking again towards an old tunnel. “What are these tunnels?” Draco asked.

“Muggles dig in the ground for coal to use for electricity, and the tunnels connected the mines—where they dig—to the harbour,” Harry answered. “Or at least that’s what Hermione said,” he added with a smirk.

“So this is held up without magic?” Draco asked, nervously looking up at the stone arch above his head.

“Yeah. Scared, Malfoy?”

Draco didn’t deign to reply to that jibe, but walked into the tunnel in answer to Harry’s challenge.

“I’m sorry those pillocks don’t understand what an asset you were,” Draco said carefully.

Harry growled. “I just can’t believe it! They’re wrong about this! Those insane criminals are going to get away because of Auror mismanagement!”

“Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“I believe you’re right about the case.”

“But?”

“Honest question. Do you think you’re cut out for hierarchical, bureaucratic management structures?”

Harry stopped in the middle of the tunnel and turned to look at Draco. Draco crossed his arms over his chest and raised an eyebrow, as if daring Harry to get angry at his question.

Harry inhaled with heat in his eyes, as if to defend himself, but then abortively closed his mouth. He looked at Draco again and burst into laughter.

Draco’s lips quirked. “Because honestly, Potter, I’ve wondered how that could possibly work ever since you were in Auror training.”

“You work in a job like that!” Harry cried, gesticulating his arm at Draco.

“Yes, of course I do it! I don’t mind hierarchy and authority! Are you forgetting the part where, during the war, all of my bad decisions were due to not wanting to disrespect my father’s authority? And how every time I made what you would call a ‘good’ decision, it tore me apart because it caused me to go against tradition and the way things were supposed to work? I am a pureblood Slytherin, for fuck’s sake, Potter! I can handle hierarchy at work!”

Harry gaped at him.

“But _you?”_ Draco continued. “You never listened to anyone, once, ever, in your entire Hogwarts career or during the war.”

“Well now that’s just not true! You’re being hyperbolic!”

Draco raised an eyebrow.

“But point taken,” Harry mumbled.

“You don’t even listen to _Avada Kedavras!_ Harry, Voldemort would’ve won if you respected hierarchy and authority. I am not saying it’s a bad thing. I love that about you.”

Harry’s cheeks pinked, visible even in the dim light of the tunnel.

“But how can you possibly think you should be involved in Auror bureaucracy? It doesn’t fit you at all!” Draco threw his hands up. 

Harry sighed and slumped back onto the stone wall of the tunnel. “Well what the fuck else am I going to do, Draco?” he cried in frustration. “What the fuck am I going to do now? This is the only thing I’ve ever worked towards!”

“It doesn’t fucking matter!” Draco yelled.

Harry’s eyebrows drew together in anger. “How can you say it doesn’t matter what I do with my life?”

“I didn’t say that! Argh, you are such an infuriating git!” 

Harry crossed his arms petulantly.

Draco took a deep breath. “Being an Auror isn’t the only thing you’ve worked towards, Harry. Killing Voldemort and ending the war were your goals long before the Auror thing. Do you think it’s possible that you mixed those two goals up in your mind, so even after Voldemort was dead you forgot that the Auror thing wasn’t actually a goal you cared about outside the context of needing to kill Voldemort?”

Harry sighed. “Possible.”

Draco leaned forwards to put his hand on Harry’s forearm. “You don’t need to know. You just quit your job today; you have time. You’re young, and powerful, and famous, and rich. It’s going to be okay. You can be anything or nothing. We can sit on the beach in Pembrokeshire and read Muggle paperbacks, if you want.”

Harry smiled. “ _You_ still have a job.”

“I’ll quit it to read Muggle paperbacks on a beach with you. I always hated that job, anyway,” Draco drawled.

“You liar! You love your job!” Harry laughed.

Draco smiled. “You’re right. I’m not going to quit my job. But I’m serious, though. We can do anything. I can Floo to the Ministry from a beach house stocked with Muggle novels, if that’s what you want.”

“You said _we._ ” Harry smiled brightly.

“What?” Draco asked, trying to look imperious.

“I was asking what I am going to do and you said ‘ _we_ can do anything.’ Like it’s not just me; like we’re a team.” Harry was still smiling.

Draco tried and failed to suppress a smile. He started to walk to the end of the tunnel. “Don’t be a prat.”

Harry followed Draco, grabbing his hand as he caught up. “That makes me feel better, actually. _We_ can do anything.”

Draco was silent, but squeezed Harry’s hand.

“We haven’t really, er,” Harry stammered, “talked much about this thing we’re doing.”

Draco moaned. “Please don’t subject me to Gryffindorish clarification and classification of our feelings.”

Harry laughed. “I’m not. I just wanted to say—I like the _we._ I want to be ‘us.’”

Draco rolled his eyes, but smiled. “I like the _we_ , too.”

“So you’re going to be around while I flounder around having no idea what to do? I’ll probably drive everyone crazy. Hermione’s going to be making me write essays and read books called things like, I dunno, _Which Wizard Workplace_ or some such rot.”

Draco snickered. “What did she say?”

Harry looked at Draco out of the corner of his eye. “I haven’t told her. I haven’t told anyone until just now.”

“I was the first person you told that you quit your job while screaming at the Minister of Magic, who, also screaming, then tried to fire you?”

Harry tried to suppress a grin. “Yes.”

Draco turned suddenly, grabbed Harry’s shoulders, and pressed a heated kiss to his lips.

“Mmpphhh,” Harry groaned, kissing back. He pulled away. “Draco, of course I told you first. First of all, because I am not the most emotionally healthy person in the world and I didn’t want to tell _anyone_ at first, and second, because we’re in a relationship. Being in a relationship means wanting to tell each other things first.”

“You sappy fuck, _stop._ You’re going to make me blurt things at you.”

“Like what?” Harry asked with a raised brow, ready to prod.

“I think you know, and I’m not saying it.”

Harry laughed, then looked out the end of the tunnel, pointing. “Look.”

Draco looked out. The path continued out of the tunnel, down to a beach. In the distance, houses dotted the hills. The sea air assaulted his senses.

Suddenly, Harry started giggling. Draco turned to him, confused. “What?” Draco asked.

Harry’s giggling only intensified. Draco raised a brow.

“It’s just,” Harry said through laughter, “I _quit_ my job.”

The corner of Draco’s mouth curled up as he tried to mask his amusement.

“I _yelled_ at Kingsley,” Harry gasped. “Completely burned my bridges. I have no job. I have no idea what I’m going to do.”

Draco started to chuckle.

“Come Monday morning, what will I be doing?” Harry raised a hand up in a questioning gesture. “Fuck if I know!” He was completely overwhelmed by laughter.

Draco laughed, grabbed Harry’s wrist, and dragged them to a spot on the beach. After casting his beach charms, he sat. Harry sprawled next to him, throwing his head into Draco’s lap. He laughed for awhile longer, then fell quiet. 

After a moment, Harry opened his eyes suddenly. “Draco.”

“Hmm?”

Harry’s eyes were bright and the green color sparkled behind his glasses. “I’m _free._ All that stuff that yesterday was non-negotiable, like getting up in the morning, studying cases at night, always having that stupid emergency charm activated on my wand for when they demanded I come back into the office, all those raids and near injuries and visits to St Mungo’s, all those things that I ‘had to do.’” He paused. “I didn’t even realize it was possible that I could opt out of it all at this point. I thought it wasn’t a choice.”

“There’s always some choice involved even in the shittest of situations,” Draco drawled, “I should know. I failed to see that enough times.”

Harry laughed. “It’s done. Over. I don’t ever have to do any of that ever again. Holy _shit._ I should’ve quit years ago.”

Draco smiled. “I can’t pretend I’m sorry about this. You’ve been miserable and stressed, and I’ve spent all my time these last three years worrying you would get killed.”

Harry’s face became serious and he sat abruptly, turning to Draco. “For three years?”

Draco could feel his face drain of color and a cold sensation creep up his neck. “I mean. I worry about all of my friends, Potter.”

Harry didn’t let it go. “How long have you…” He trailed off.

Draco looked at the waves.

Harry, ever the Gryffindor, pushed on. “I’ve wanted you pretty much since the first pub night.”

Draco’s head whipped back towards Harry. “Are you trying to stoke my ego?”

“When have I ever,” Harry said slowly, “in the history of knowing you, done something to stoke your ego?”

Draco rolled his eyes, and then fell quiet for a moment. “I think I’ve wanted you since sixth year,” he admitted in a quiet voice. “Though at the time I wasn’t sure if I only wanted you because you seemed to represent everything the opposite of the shit I was dealing with.” He looked at Harry. “Definitely since the first pub night.”

“Merlin, we’re idiots. We could’ve been having mind-blowing sex for like four or five years?”

Draco flopped back on the sand. “Fucking hell.” After a moment, Draco said, “Gappy!” 

The house-elf appeared, looking down at Draco’s prone form. “Master Draco?”

“Can you please bring us a bottle of the good elf-made mead, and also some dinner? And glasses, plates, etcetera. No rush, thank you.”

“Of course, Master Draco!”

Harry lay down next to Draco, threading their fingers together and pressing his ankle to Draco’s calf. “Merlin, I wish we’d had a house-elf when we were on the run in the war. Although Hermione probably wouldn’t’ve let us use him or her, anyway.”

Draco snorted.

Gappy returned with the mead and a basket full of sandwiches, perfect for a beach picnic. They sat up, and Draco poured them each a glass of mead. The sun was setting over the water.

Draco took a long sip. “So what do you want to do? I mean, what do you like to do?”

Harry sipped his mead and looked at Draco inquiringly. “What do you mean?”

“How do you like to spend your time?”

Harry laughed. “Honestly, I have no idea. I think this is the first time anyone has ever asked me that in my whole life.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. Sometimes he forgot how little control Harry’d had over his life until now. “Alright. So name things you like to do.”

“You,” Harry said with a smirk.

“Well, besides me, obviously. I don’t give you a paycheck.”

Harry snorted. “Quidditch? I liked teaching defense. Playing with Teddy? Pub nights? Weasley’s Sunday dinners?”

Draco looked at Harry. “Sounds like you just told me you’re going to teach Quidditch or defense.”

Harry hummed, in thought. 

“Somehow I don’t see you going back to school.”

Harry laughed. “Clearly not.”

“Maybe we should talk to McGonagall.”

“You really think so?”

“Why not? They’d be lucky to have you.”

“Seems kinda ballsy to just go in and ask for a job.”

“Are you fucking with me? You do realize you are Harry bloody Potter, right?”

Harry sighed, then smiled. “I know you’re right, but you know I hate using my name to get things.” He paused. “I’m not ready yet, though.”

“Understandable.”

“I just want to sit on the beach reading Muggle paperbacks, fuck, and drink elf-made wine.”

Draco smiled. “It’s a plan.”

“When do you need to be back to work?”

“I technically have about 80 days of vacation. I’m not in the middle of any projects. So we can stay here for awhile.”

Harry hummed contentedly. “I still can’t believe I never have to go back. I’m really free.”

“You’re really free.”

“I have time for anything I want to make time for.” Harry flopped back onto the sand. “Teach me the stars, Draco.”

Draco smiled and cast a charm to cancel the light pollution. He lay back. “Well there’s really only one constellation worth knowing.”

Harry laughed, loud and bright, and the sound was swallowed by the crashing of the waves.


End file.
